Dedication
by GinAndTonicAndMaybeALemon
Summary: "Demons aren't real. I'm not a monster." Will could lie to himself all he wants, starve, run, deny the very existence of himself, but he was stuck like this now, a creature that killed, and connected to the man who made him so. Dedication to his new partner was essential for survival. [Incubus AU][Whole lotta Hannigram]


_**Dedication**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

* * *

 _It wasn't his fault, really. The man was young, foolish, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Just experimenting, trying another flavour like someone might try on clothes. Innocent enough. But it was the innocent that made shocking mistakes, they were a magnet for accidents. The entire scenario started out simple, a high-end bar with fancy yet relaxed clothes, dim soft lights and fine drinks. And the younger man, foolishly out alone, that was how people got into trouble. Being alone, sitting at a stool near a table, no one paying him any attention._

" _Hello," Hannibal had said, sitting in the seat next to the man. Prey was easy to find._

" _Hello," the man responded quickly, surprised looking. Not expecting someone to say hello, pay him any attention. The man slowly extended a hand uncertainly, eyes dodgy, obviously not the type to crave human contact. But Hannibal took the hand, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips._

" _It's Will, Will Graham," the man introduced himself, remembering his manners. His nervous, anti-social behaviour was obvious, but he still put in the effort to be nice. It was almost sad, such a kind soul, someone who could be missed. It evoked pity, a kind of sadness. A sorry for the damned. Will would be dead before the night was over._

" _My name is Hannibal."_

* * *

 _Falling, freezing, falling, freezing, the two feelings were twisting around me, scattering my mind. It didn't matter though, for I could feel peace again. A strong sense of calm. Arms, warm and inviting, promising to stay. A vicious beat thumping, a violin straining and screaming, beautiful but terrifying. I felt safe though. Even as I fell, cold water hitting my face like a slap-_

I couldn't remember where I was for a moment. Staring at a blank wall, pondering what had happened, I force myself up with a groan. My head pounds, the worst hangover I have ever had, and my vision is moving, rolling and shifting. Pushing through the mirage of my mind, I rub my temples and look around, recognizing my bedroom immediately. It feels foreign though, as though I never really lived here. Throwing my feet over the side of the bed, I shuffle to the bathroom, my head swimming with the effort.

The toilet seat is open, and I feel a strong urge to throw up. But my stomach feels too empty, there is nothing to choke out, and so I close the seat and sit down, head hanging in my hands. I had my share if drunk nights, but nothing like this feeling had ever come over me. The emptiness and dullness, like a drink gone flat. Pain, a needle slowly drilling into my head. And the hunger, I was starving. I usually was when I woke up, but today it hit me hard.

Standing, I resume my zombie shuffle, moving to the kitchen. Opening the fridge door, grabbing the carton of orange juice and drinking straight from it, too thirsty to bother grabbing a cup. The sour and sweetness almost burns my throat, but I close my eyes and allow the cold drink to fill me. Craving something else, I set the carton down and search around. Finding leftover turkey from some nights before, I unwrap the container and begin to eat, not caring if it is cold.

"Will?" _Alana._ She was here? How long had she been here? I can hear her voice coming from another room, but my mind is too tired to completely think this whole thing through. Setting down the food, I turn and follow the voice, almost running into Alana in the kitchen doorway.

"Will? Are you alright?" She looks worried, eyebrows slightly scrunched up. I nod slowly, the action feeling too smooth.

"I'm hungry," I mumble, my stomach aching.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Alana asks the question again, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side. I nod again, looking down, and notice I am only in my boxers. That snaps me to attention. I must have gotten too drunk last night, and somehow Alana had to come here, probably at my own pleading. And now morning had come with a hangover.

"I... I am going to go change."

"Alright. Your head feelings okay? I think you hit it somewhere last night."

"Hit it?" I touch my forehead, then run a hand through the dark curls, but there isn't any pain. I wave a hand, noticing how slow the movement seems, and I glance at Alana. Dressed in shorts and a loose muscle shirt, hair unruly and flying everywhere, exhaustion coming off her in waves. How many times has she had to do this, pick me up somewhere and drive to my place, make sure I was alright? I smile, hoping to convey some type of gratitude with the action. "I think I'll be fine Alana."

"Sure. You're clothes are in the dryer by the way, I took the liberty of cleaning them. They were wet, covered in mud." She turns and exits the kitchen, feet padding down the hallway. Off to sleep. I lean against counter, trying to recount the events of last night. _Mud. Water._ What had I done? Not nearly the worst thing, there was a moment long ago when I ran through a window to save a dog. How the glass avoided injuring me was a mystery, but Alana claimed I dove right through it 'like Superman'. My drunk self could not tell the difference between a real dog, and one on display in a pet store.

Not so many moments I'm proud of years ago.

Frowning as my stomach grumbles, I glance at the turkey. _Disgusting._ No, turkey was not disgusting, but my stomach seems to insist on not having any. Feeling it doing flip-flops, I head to the bathroom, arriving just in time to empty the food I just ate into the toilet. Did I eat something bad last night? Breakfast was cereal, then a snack, a burger for lunch. Chicken for super. More than four shots and one tall glass of alcohol. That was all I had... was it? I remember running into people, meeting people, the memories drowned out by liquor.

Damn, why couldn't I remember?

 _This is going to be a long day._

* * *

The sick feeling got worse, peaking at the evening. Fever, occasional dizziness, and a clawing at my stomach that insisted to be heard. Like I had not eaten all day and was on the brink of starvation. It was supper, and Alana offered to stay the evening since it was apparently obvious that I wasn't doing well. Leading to the current predicament of sitting alone at a table, forcing down steak and a salad in a small diner.

"I'm leaving tomorrow for a class in England," Alana says before eating a piece of meat, dainty and careful as ever. I snap out of my thoughts, trying to focus on anything but the hunger.

"Really? That's great, Alana." Choosing the life as a professor, Alana taught psychology in High School, slowly gaining more and more experience as she worked her way up to colleges and universities. _England._ Far away, hopefully this trip wouldn't be too long, but if it was I would be able to handle it. Biting my lip and feeling like the happiness wasn't noticeable, I put my fork down, then look up with a smile. "I really am happy for you, all these opportunities, lectures-"

"It's not just a lecture, Will. I might move away. I met a girl a few months back... she has a place for me all set up," Alana says uncertainly, putting her own fork down. The news sinks in slowly, my mind too foggy to process it properly.

"... Move away."

"Yes. I was hoping you could come visit for a while after I've settled, tell me what you think," Alana says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on my wrist. The contact feels strange, like a metal burning into my skin, yet her hand feels too cold. Swallowing, my mind swimming and sinking, I look down at the salad, dressing smeared everywhere and bits of dried bread crumbling over the leaves. My insides take another spin.

"Visit."

"I know you're upset, worried, but I want to give this girl a chance-" Alana's mouth moves, words coming out distantly. I just nod, the motion making the spinning worse. Lips opening and closing, teeth snapping, the noise not coming through. Forgetting about the conversation entirely, I try to keep from throwing up, passing out, but this situation was too overwhelming. I stand up abruptly, taking a step back and almost falling onto my seat. Alana freezes, going pale.

"I need to go to the washroom," I say hurriedly, turning and rushing to the washroom. Alana calls out after me, her voice fully of worry. Too sick to care, I dash into a stall, barely having time to lock the door behind me before I'm throwing up all over again. Retching, my throat burning up, I feel tears threaten to pour over. What the hell was wrong? Was there a new epidemic of a flu-version of the black plague. Eyes shut tight, I try to remember all the events. My work week was normal, the vet's office was quiet. Did I do something wrong? Maybe picked up a disease? I was always careful with sanitation, but perhaps I slipped up.

What about last night?

Drunk, there was so much I could not account for. I talked to a few people, dropped in a different bars-

I met a guy. I wasn't with him the whole night though, never took him home or went to his house. I felt pretty certain about that. But we hung out... oh god, did I pick up an STD? A violent form of the flu?

Frightened, my insides hurting, I flush the toilet and go to wash my hands, thankful I'm alone in the restroom. Rinsing my mouth out with water, I spit out the rancid taste, swirling the water before i wash my face. The cold water makes the pain more bearable. As I clean up, I become more certain that man had something to do with it. I could feel it, like I had always known.

I turn around and exit the washroom.

"Will? You okay?" Alana is waiting outside the door, eyes full of questions. I nod, walking to our table and dropping a few twenties down.

"I already paid Will."

"Then it's a tip."

"Where are you going? What's wrong?"

"Not feeling well, I'm going home. I'll phone you later," I say to Alana, walking past her again to the diner's exit. She follows me, tugging on my arm, the small action threatening to pull me over to the ground. The room was starting to spin again, forehead heating up, but I kept myself together. I really needed to go somewhere, find that man, every second that pasts makes me more sure of that fact. I had no car, but I felt like I could find the bar all over again.

"I'll drive you," Alana offers, but I shake my head and pull away.

"I really need to go, Alana. I have something to do, I really hope you find what you need to in England." I start walking, my instincts driving me as I move, the cool air lightening the weight of my headache. Still starving, but not too keen to eat again. I just need to move, find the guy, my gut pulling and pushing me to a destination I crave. I was so hungry.

* * *

" _So, you never told me what you do... or... why you are here.." Will slurs the words, leaning heavily on Hannibal's side. The older man shrugs, opening the door and exiting the bar with the young man, turning him down the street. Leading him away from people. A hand tightly grasped onto Will's side, keeping him close and upright. It was easy to get him drunk, plus it made him more gullible, easier to convince._

" _I am here... because I choose to. I also study the human mind," Hannibal pauses, making a left turn. A bridge, empty and dark, hanging over a river with fast flowing water, ice sailing down it. Will looks over the view, eyes drooping as his head tilts. Too tired now, too late to run. Not that there was anything to evoke such a reaction yet._

" _Isn't that... a doctor?" Will looks up at Hannibal, smiling, his grin lopsided. He moves back, leaning on the railing for support, trying so hard to stand up. Hannibal doesn't say anything, instead takes a step closer to Will, who looks a little confused by the act. His eyes were blue, the kind that looked more grey under white light, brown under dark light, green under soft light. But in close proximity, it was easy to see the blue. Curling brown hair, messy, brushing his jacket collar. Now Hannibal was feeling more sorry for this man._

" _I guess," Hannibal says, and Will's lips curl down as his mind tries to process everything. He looked so confused, so drunk, eyes filled with questions, and Hannibal knew he should get this over with before he made a mistake. Closer now, bodies pressed tightly against each other, Hannibal kisses the younger man, feeling Will stiffen with surprise._

 _That could be fixed. Hannibal compels Will to relax, willing him to, and soon Will begins responding. Hannibal's hands rest on hips, his tongue dragging across the other's mouth. Will's mouth parts with uncertainty as he raises his hands gripping onto Hannibal's jacket. This was too easy. Hannibal wondered if he would regret it all in the morning; probably. Only for a bit, then he would move on. Survival was essential._

 _Pushing Will back against the bridge's railing harshly, he can feel his hunger growing. Will's pulse is racing, heart pounding, breath hitching, and Hannibal decides to get it over with. Prolonging the feast was nice, but not tonight. Not on this innocent soul. Parting Will's mouth with his tongue, he grips onto the younger man tightly, keeping him there. Will doesn't attempt to run though, having no idea what was happening, and Hannibal breathes in. Compelling once again, making Will one with him. There heartbeats matching up, their breathing the same._

 _The pounding intensified, quickened, a drum reaching it's crescendo. Will's grip became tighter for a spilt second._

 _Then it weakened. The beat fluttered, Hannibal's heart droning on as the other rhythm fell out of time._

 _One heart pumped strongly as the other slowed. It was like time was getting closer to stopping._

 _Hannibal pulled a few inches away._

 _Will opens his eyes, more tired looking now. Large blue eyes fearful but intrigued, but also frozen. Time had stopped, and the drumming seemed to freeze along with blood that had been pumped by a muscle that would soon no longer work._

 _Jaw set, Hannibal pushes Will's shoulders, watching as time picks up, but still moving at a snail's pace. Will falling back, over the railing, head first, then torso, then feet. Falling to the water, the beat picks up again, falling through the air, the drum rolls on._

 _By the time the splash from the water sounds out, Hannibal is looking down over the railing, heartbeat strong again. Steady, not quick and not slow, just consistent. A band that had learned long ago how to stay in time together. Time picks up the cold wind suddenly harsh, the smell of winter strong in the air. Hannibal licks his lower lip slowly, eyes narrowed as he watches the river flow by. Face relaxing, he turns and begins to walk away, like nothing ever happened._

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **I don't own Hannibal, just this plot.**_

 _ **Pairing is Hannigram of course.**_

 _ **This chapter was a mixture of the night before (italics), and the present (non-italics).**_

 _ **This is my first story for Hannibal, so sorry for any ooc-ness. I like the whole succubus/incubus type of mythology, so yeah... that's what inspired this. Oh, and Lost Girl, definitely Lost Girl. Bo can kill me anytime she pleases. Rating may go up to M for mature themes.**_


End file.
